Sheldon could have got to know me better if he wanted to. I could have told him how I got in trouble in Year 7 at school because I got in late after I went to have a word with Kandi’s teacher to make sure she had a place at breakfast club. Or how I helped Kandi with her reading and writing and took back her library books when she forgot. Or how me and her used to make up silly names for every cat we saw. All Sheldon had to do was ask me. I would have told him all that. He could have taken me too.

As I stand outside his house now, the window slams shut. I could run, but what’s the point? Sheldon’s seen me. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll let me see my sister. If she’s sleeping, he doesn’t have to wake her up. Please let me see her!

The cat slinks away. The security light flashes off. I wait.

Kandi’s dad switches on the light in the kitchen and it spills out into the garden. I’ve still got time. I could run, but the back door opens and Sheldon’s standing there.

I wish he looked more like Kandi, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so angry with him. But Aunty Jasmine says that Kandi looks like Mum and I look like my dad. She’s right about Kandi. I’ve got no idea about me.

“What are you doing here?” Sheldon asks.

“Can’t you guess?” I say.

Sheldon shakes his head. “Nuh. You’re not seeing her.”

“Why not?” I ask.

These aren’t the words I want to say, but he’s not asking me the right questions. He’s not asking me nothing at all. Why doesn’t he just say, “Why do you want to see her, Charlene?” Or, “How did you get here, Charlene?” Or, “Are you OK?” Then maybe I could tell him that I want to say sorry to my sister. Instead, it’s like I’m plugged into the sun again and it’s burning its way through me.

Sheldon says, “Because it’s late.”

“Even if it was early, you wouldn’t let me,” I reply.

“No, Charlene, I wouldn’t and you know why.”

“No I don’t, Sheldon,” I say. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Sheldon’s eyes narrow. “I’m done with you, Charlene. I don’t want you anywhere near my girl.”

He goes to close the door, but I lunge forward and shove it open again. “She’s my sister!” I say.

“Get out of my house!” Sheldon shouts.

He pushes me and I fall back. The door slams shut and I can see him in the kitchen with his phone in his hand.  I sit there feeling the cold stone of the path through my jeans. I know he’s jabbing three numbers: 9 – 9 – 9.